Pieces of Peace
by DaBlahgz
Summary: A series of one shots for after the series ended, mainly if not solely dealing with Duck and Fakir. Reviews, as always, are welcome and appreciated.
1. Late Night

Duck let out a tired sigh, trying to hold back her umpteenth yawn and look alive. Fakir was sitting in his usual chair on the dock, writing at the little wooden desk he'd brought out months ago. When the little bird couldn't avoid yawning once more, he looked down at her, annoyed.

"You were the one who asked me to stay out here," he told her, unappreciative and unapproving. "If you were really that tired, you should have gone to sleep earlier."

Duck lowered her head, looking down at the water under her. Sure, she was tired, but she loved the time that they spent out by the water, where Fakir could write all he wanted in the peace of the little pond and the surrounding trees. She knew how much he still loved to write, and she wanted to be able to give him that. It wasn't as though she could do much else for him now that she was stuck as a duck.

Fakir watched her with something close to exasperation as she thought sleepily. He was still a knight, she thought. Even though that was all originally a part of Drosselmeyer's story, it was true. He had protected Mytho as much as he could, and he wrote to protect her when she tried her best to help the prince, too. And even now, he was protecting her, staying with her. Even know, he was being her knight in shining armor... hidden behind his sharp tongue and mean words, as usual.

"Honestly," he muttered, standing and starting to put his things away. "Are you falling asleep now? Come on, let's get you out of there before you become the first duck to drown. Knowing you, it could happen."

Fakir plucked her out of the water and wrapped her in a small, warm towel, eliciting a surprised quack from the little avian. The knight closed his books and slipped them into his bag, then tossed in his pens and raised the strap to his shoulder. It was warm there, nestled in the crook of Fakir's arm and wrapped up in the little towel. Lulled to sleep by the gentle cadence of his steps, Duck began to dream of days gone by filled with magic and secrets and lots and lots of ballet.

* * *

"If you were going to make me come back early, you shouldn't have insisted on going at all," Fakir was grumbling, not aware that the little bird had drifted off. "I hardly got anything written, and now that I've been interrupted, I doubt I can easily get back on tra-" He looked down at her, noticing now how... unconscious she was.

He smiled to himself, looking ahead once more. So far the little duck had proven to be quite a bit of trouble, despite the short amount of time they'd spent here and how small she was. She'd gotten herself lost a number of times, and once had nearly gotten herself killed and sold by a local butcher. That had been a little too close for comfort.

In relative silence, Fakir brought Duck back to his place. At first, she'd lived by the pond, but soon she got too scared and lonely to stay there by herself. Besides, after the kinds of trouble she always got herself into, he wasn't sure he felt leaving her there to her own devices would be a good idea.

Back at the house, he set her in a basket next to the couch in the living room before sitting on the couch and, before long, laying down. It was... peaceful, now. Well, now that Drosselmeyer had gone and left them alone, now that they'd stopped his story. And now he was happy, living day by day with Duck as they each figured out what they would do from now on. Since their future and story wasn't being decided for them anymore, they would decide it for themselves.

_I could live like this,_ he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep. _Together forever with that clumsy idiot._


	2. The Story

Duck sat in the warm sunshine that landed on the floor in a warped square, her feet folded under her. If Fakir was here, he would be telling her how stupid she was to be sitting in the middle of the hallway, how that was dangerous for her, seeing as she was so small and helpless now, how she could trip someone and they could get hurt. For now, however, he was gone. The knight had left to the weekly market.

She hoped he'd bring back something for her. He did last time, but she'd eaten it all before the day was out and had gotten scolded.

From across the house, she heard the gentle fluttering of paper. That fluttering soon grew to the howling of wind through the window and the rasp of the pages of Fakir's story flying off the desk.

With a quack, she hopped to her feet and half ran, half flapped her way down the hall and to Fakir's study. In a near panic, the little duck hopped onto the windowsill and pushed as hard as she could at the window. She got it to move about four inches before it got stuck and she couldn't close it no matter how hard she tried to.

The wind started to die down now. Duck pulled at the curtain, then, drawing it across the window in her best efforts to block any more sudden gusts. When that was taken care of, she turned to the terrible mess of what used to be Fakir's story. Papers littered the floor and desk, and a couple had even gotten themselves trapped between shelves of the bookcase against the wall.

Both daunted and motivated by the state of the story, Duck set to work in collecting the pages and putting them into a neat stack on the floor behind the desk. (After some rebellious wind had slipped past the curtain and scattered the pages she'd collected on the desk, she decided that the floor behind it was the best option.) After an hour or two of this, she'd finally gotten all of the stray pages together.

Praying that Fakir had numbered his pages, she looked to all corners of the pages, even looking over the back. But there were no numbers to be found.

_Well then_, Duck thought, _I guess the only way to put them back in order is to read the story._

And so she did. Fakir might not appreciate it, but then, if she put it all back before he returned, he might never know.

The pages told a tale of a brave knight and a clumsy princess that lived together in a humble little house and spent most of their time visiting a small pond out in the woods. At first, Duck had been planning to skim the pages and put them together in any way that made sense, but soon she found herself immersed in the story. She hadn't expected him to write about... well about them, really. After everything that had happened, she was sure he'd only write about things that didn't involve the people he knew. She knew Fakir had been angry with himself after everything with Drosselmeyer. He felt that he hadn't been able to protect her when the crows were attacking.

But maybe he was trying to make up for that with this story. Here, the unnamed knight protected the equally unnamed princess from all manners of danger. He would take care of her, serve her, save her, keep her company, and scare away her nightmares. Of course, he still did so with Fakir's usual stubborn attitude and harsh words. The princess seemed a little more clumsy and forgetful than she should be, though. Duck wondered idly what that meant.

The little bird hadn't heard her knight return, and only noticed when he was standing over her, arms crossed and frowning. Duck froze and slowly looked up at him, letting out a tiny, barely audible quack in greeting.

But the scolding and anger didn't come. The yelling didn't start and he didn't send her away in a flare of his temper. Instead, the knight looked away toward the covered window.

"What did you think?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Realizing that Fakir was asking something more than what her opinion was on the story, she resolved to think carefully over her answer and how best to respond. It didn't take her long to get an ingenious little idea.

She flapped her wings a little to get him to look down at her instead of the window, then held them up in the mime children normally used to be picked up. Fortunately, it worked. The knight did as she asked, and, when she was close enough, she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Fakir blinked down at her in surprise. And then he smiled.


	3. Unauthorized Trek

After Duck had disappeared around two hours earlier, Fakir looked everywhere he could think to in the little house–every nook and cranny–but the little bird was nowhere to be found. This wasn't the first time, either. She seemed to have a habit of disappearing and making him worry.

_Maybe she finds it funny_, he mused with annoyance.

Usually, when she went missing on purpose and wasn't to be found in the house, Duck would leave a note. That was his next order of business. After another search, he turned up the little scrap of paper from under his books, where he must have unknowingly buried it earlier that morning.

Fantastic.

The little paper had a poorly drawn pond on it, signed on the bottom with an inky impression of a webbed foot. He should have expected as much, considering who he was dealing with. Where else would she run off to, after all? Where else would she stick the note? She couldn't easily reach the counter or table without help, but the desk had a chair she could use.

Feeling ill at ease about Duck running off alone (mostly because the way to the pond included passing the butcher's shop), Fakir pulled on his boots and set off after her.

The town was busy that day, full of people bustling about on business and townsfolk stopping to smell the flowers or have a pleasant chat. The baker tried to pull Fakir into a conversation, waving a roll of bread through the air to catch his attention. The boy politely declined a sample of today's freshly baked goods with a simple: "Can't talk now. I've lost my moron."

When Fakir did reach the pond, he saw the little duck dancing at the end of the dock, her eyes closed in concentration as she quacked an off-tune version of a song from The Nutcracker. As the boy watched, the little bird inched closer and closer to the edge. _Let her fall_, he thought. _For making me worry over nothing._ But the closer she got to falling, the more he remembered how much she loved to dance and how difficult it was for her to do as a duck.

Frustrated with himself, he walked down the length of the dock quietly enough that Duck didn't hear him, and stooped to put a hand by the edge. When she stepped off of it, her little foot landed on his hand and he picked her up. He watched with some small amount of satisfaction and amusement as surprise crossed her face and she looked up at him.

Duck's off-tune song ended abruptly and her movements slowed to a stop. Embarrassed, she folded her wings at her sides and looked down at the water below.

Fakir narrowed his eyes at her. "You could have handed me the note," he told her, somewhat sternly.

She gave a soft little quack, not looking up.

"You almost fell off the dock."

The way she shifted her wings nervously gave him the impression that it wouldn't have been the first time that day.

"Your note got buried, you know. I might not have seen it at all. If you had gotten yourself into trouble, you would be on your own." The more he spoke, the more he was reminded that he had gotten worried over nothing. It was more likely that nothing would have happened. With a heavy sigh, he set her back down on the dock. "Just... keep dancing," he grumbled finally, sitting in his chair and leaning back.

She seemed reluctant, so he sighed again and closed his eyes. Before long, he heard the quiet pitter-patter of duck feet on the wood of the dock-this time not accompanied by song. He took a peek after a few minutes and realized that her rhythm was a little off. Well, what could he expect, really? It was often hard for beginners to get the right timing without any form of music, anyway.

And so he hummed quietly. At first, she gave him a look that he guessed meant he wasn't supposed to be watching, but then she got too absorbed in dancing to bother giving him any more specific expressions.

For the rest of that afternoon, there sat and twirled the humming knight and the dancing duck.


	4. A Good Day for Berries

Fakir sat down at the table, placing the basket of berries he bought for Duck earlier that morning atop it and opening one of the books he was writing in. It wasn't long before he heard an excited little quack from down by his feet. He looked down and raised an eyebrow at the little bird.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked, successfully keeping his smile off his face. He wanted to appear angrier than he was.

Duck pointed with her wing at the table and quacked again, her eyes shining with hope and happiness.

The writer rested his chin in a hand as he looked down at her, struggling to keep a serious expression. "And what makes you think you're allowed to have them?" he questioned.

The bird paused, looking a little surprised. "Qua...?"

Fakir shook his head. "These berries are off-limits. Consider it punishment."

Duck's face fell in something like shame as she shuffled her wings a little and scratched at the wooden floor with her foot. Yeah, she knew what this was for.

"Now off you go. I'm sure there's still some bread or bird seed you could eat." He turned back to his writing, picking up his quill pen and continuing the story on the pages.

Just the day before, while they were visiting the nearby pond out in the woods, Duck had gotten the bright idea to knock Fakir into the water. He hadn't been particularly happy to get completely soaked, or to have been pushed over by nothing but a small duck. What's more, the story he'd been writing at the little desk had gotten splashed.

He'd been having trouble writing lately and he knew that Duck was just trying to help him get out of the slump he'd been in, so he hadn't been all that angry to begin with. That didn't stop him from dunking her underwater, though, or from instigating a splash fight with her. Still, he didn't appreciate the work he'd done getting ruined, and he knew Duck felt bad for it. He just figured he could have a bit of fun while making sure that Duck got her due punishment for having destroyed his story.

Fakir didn't plan on making it last long, and he had bought the berries for Duck, anyway.

Over the course of the morning, the writer would see the little duck wandering around the house, casting longing glances at the basket of berries. First, he would see her far off, down the hall or in the study. Then, a little closer—in the living room, perhaps. After that, he would spot her around the kitchen, then near the table, and finally, her head popped up across the table and she rested her chin on its surface. Her eyes were always locked onto that basket.

After a few more minutes of this, she stretched out her wing with a look and a tortured quack that, to Fakir, roughly translated to, "I'm dying of hunger."

The writer was beginning to have more trouble keeping that smile off his face. Again, he raised his eyebrows at her, then he reached into the basket and pulled out a berry. Duck's eyes followed it as he lifted it, then tossed it in his mouth.

"Oh, these are delicious," he commented, grabbing a few more. When he saw the little bird's expression, one of hurt and betrayal, he laughed and pushed the basket toward her. "You can have some already, idiot." He gave her a smile.

Duck jumped up onto the tabletop and stepped up to the basket, pecking at the berries. She did so slowly at first, and then with more enthusiasm when she got her own taste of the juicy, ripe flavor.

Fakir watched her with amusement, still picking out some for himself and setting them aside. It wasn't long before the peaceful snack became a race to see who could nab the best berries first. When Fakir and Duck both got the the same one simultaneously, the duck ended up pecking at his hand until he dropped it.

"So _that's_ how it's going to be, is it?" he challenged, picking the basket up off the table. As Duck jumped for the basket, flapping her wings futilely in the air and quacking as loudly and obnoxiously as she could, Fakir smiled in his triumph.

Today was a good day for berries.


	5. Lightning and Shadows

**Sorry, today's update came a little later than I meant for it to. :( I'll try to update earlier in the day tomorrow!**

* * *

That night, there was a lightning storm. Wind raged, whipping rain and hail into anything that got in its path. Trees swayed under nature's barrage as clouds stirred and roiled above and lightning tore through cloud and sky, striking up from the ground and righting the electrical imbalances found there.

Thunder roared angrily outside and Duck awoke in a cold sweat. She shivered, sinking back against the edges of the little bed Fakir had gotten for her some time ago. The woven, basket-like material offered little comfort, and the cushion under her provided no hiding places where she could escape from imagined enemies. It wasn't the storm that scared her—much, anyway. No, she'd had a nightmare, and now every shadow in the house looked ominous and threatening. Lightning flashed outside, glaring in through the window and casting odd-looking shapes on the walls, and with a frightened quack, she covered her head with her wings. Her fear deepened the darkness and filled every corner with phantom creatures that reached for her every time the light faded.

When more thunder rumbled above and wind battered the walls and windows of the little house, Duck felt her tiny body shake in response. There was a quiet pause in the storm, and she dared to look up, seeing a dark shape in front of the window. In the time it took her pounding heart to beat but twice, she was out of that room and bolting down the hall, trying her best to keep quiet but more or less failing miserably.

Rain and hail relentlessly beat the roof, walls, and windows, making Duck feel closed-in and cornered. She drew in on herself, her wings tight against her sides, and backed away from the kitchen window, every step, heartbeat, and breath sounding much too loud in her own ears. When something closed around her, pinning her wings to her sides, she let out a sound similar to a shriek and struggled like her life depended on it.

* * *

"Woah, there. It's okay, little duck, I won't hurt you," Karon crooned softly, attempting to reassure her, but she couldn't hear him over her own cries and kicked and struggled and pecked and quacked, trying to get free.

Not sure what else to do, the man carried the frightened bird to Fakir's room. The moment he opened the door, the duck's cries escalated and she woke the young writer.

Fakir rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up in confusion just before Duck kicked free of Karon's grasp and landed in his lap. She quacked and ducked behind Fakir, shaking in fear and pressing herself against his arm. "What the—"

"I think the storm scared her," Karon explained. "I heard her running around the house in a panic. He watched with a small smile as Fakir pulled her out of her hiding place and showing her that Karon was the one who'd snatched her up. She relaxed a little, but still stayed close to Fakir, her feathers ruffled and eyes darting suspiciously around the room.

"She sure does like you," he observed. "Look how much calmer she is."

"Shut up," Fakir retorted, looking away in embarrassment.

"Sorry, but can you watch her? I don't want her accidentally knocking anything over or breaking something." Karon nodded, then bid the boy and the duck goodnight before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Fakir turned to Duck now in annoyance. "I knew you were an idiot, but this is reaching new levels of stupid, even for you. It isn't like the storm can hurt you."

Duck quacked angrily, then scrambled to Fakir's bedside table and grabbed a blank piece of parchment, then one of his pens. She scrawled a picture of her sleeping in her little bed under a thought bubble with a scribbly monster inside, then circled the thought bubble a few times and pointed to it with a wing.

Fakir had been watching her draw over her shoulder, and when she looked up at him he raised an eyebrow critically at the quality. Agitated, she pointed again at her drawing. "A nightmare?" he guessed with a sigh. His little Duck still looked spooked—he could tell from the way she inched away from the shadows. She suddenly appeared to him so small and fragile that he wouldn't have been able to live with his conscience if he sent her away.

When Duck nodded her answer, he pulled the pen from her wings and replaced both it and the parchment on the little table, then laid back down. "I suppose it can't be helped, then. You can stay in here for tonight."

Duck skittered away from the edge of the bed and climbed atop him, sitting down on his chest.

Her knight gave her a glare and gently shoved her off. "Not there," he snapped.

* * *

Duck was aware that Fakir watched her as she rolled back to her feet, and she shot him quite the mistrustful look. Before long, lightning flashed again and cast those ghostly shadows across the room, and she hurriedly snuggled up next to him. As her racing heart began to slow and thunder rumbled (much less menacingly, now), Duck rested her chin on Fakir's upper arm, looking up to make sure that this arrangement was alright with him. When he gave no obvious answer, she elected to take his silence for permission.

Letting her eyes close, Duck realized that she quite liked it here. Fakir was warm and comfortable, and despite his harsh tone and words, he had allowed her to stay with him so she wouldn't be scared. _Is it just my imagination, or is he being nicer to me?_


	6. The Pendant

Duck waited excitedly by the window for Fakir's return, pacing along the windowsill and letting her footsteps fall in time to an imaginary rhythm. He said that he was going to try to recreate the small pendant that Drosselmeyer had given her, and left that morning for the proper supplies with which to make it. He'd made the excuse that he was tired of trying to understand her, but she hoped that he actually did want her to be human, that his words were just his shy way of denying it. Now it was late afternoon, and Duck felt that by now, he surely must have gotten what he set out for.

She quacked out a little tune she made up on the spot, still pacing on the little ledge that completed the frame around the window. After spending a few hours there, she'd come to appreciate the little details that had been carved delicately into the wood. She wondered who it was that crafted the sill, among the many other similarly carved pieces in the house. Whoever had done it, she reasoned, must have been very skilled and practiced.

When the little duck saw Fakir walk into sight, she felt her heart soar with excitement—and then abruptly sink as a girl appeared, walking with Fakir. She laughed a cute and girlish giggle, and Fakir blushed, looking away and muttering something. The girl was pretty, with long, flowing blonde hair and shining hazel eyes. She was tall and slender and graceful, and she knew just how to walk and stand so she looked very feminine and appealing. Duck's song slow to a stop and her steps halted as she witnessed the two talk for a few minutes longer. Fakir blushed some more while he talked to her, then they said their goodbyes and he came inside.

The little bird hesitated at the window, feeling a little like a silly child as she watched the girl look up at the house for a moment. Yes, she felt jealous. She was jealous that that girl had been able to talk and laugh with Fakir, jealous that she was human, jealous of her grace and beauty. She couldn't dislike the girl, though. Duck had never met her and had no way of telling if there was anything to dislike about her. Still, though...

The girl spotted Duck and gave her a wide smile and a little wave, then turned and skipped down the road, presumably on her way home, her hair bobbing and swaying behind her as she went. She sure was pretty.

A little more insecure than she had been earlier, Duck hopped off the windowsill and trotted over to Fakir, giving him a cheerful quack in greeting.

The knight looked down at her, then at the window she'd come from. "Have you been waiting around all day?" he asked. Another quack. "You idiot. I told you you could go out into the yard or something, and you know your own way to the pond. Why didn't you go anywhere?"

Duck couldn't really answer him in depth, so she quacked once more, then pointed with a wing to the bag he held.

Fakir sighed and looked down to the bag. "I got some of the things I need, but I need to go out again tomorrow. I left the things at the craftsman's shop. The carpenter who's friends with Karon, the same one who made a lot of the furniture here, also works as a tinsmith and is helping me with the pendant." He then turned and walked down the hall to his room and shut the door behind him.

Duck was left standing by the door, confused and a little disappointed. There was still tomorrow, she reminded herself.

The next day panned out in much the same way. Duck didn't wait at the window quite as long this time, and instead went outside and walked around the yard, exploring through the long grass and by the single tree that decorated the little unkempt lawn. When the sun began to hang low in the sky, she returned to the window and waited again. Fakir walked into sight a short while later, the same girl with him. They talked some more, she giggled and teased him, he got embarrassed, then he came into the house and she waved again to Duck before she left.

Fakir came to the window this time and gave Duck a stern look. "I thought I told you not to wait," he said, crossing his arms. He didn't seem to have a pendant with him. As if reading Duck's thoughts, he frowned a little. "The pendant needs more work," he said.

The knight got some bread and cheese from the cupboards and ate, giving Duck a chunk from the loaf, and soon was locked back in his room.

The third day, Duck didn't wait at the window. She made her way to the pond, feeling scared and unsure of herself. It wasn't like she and Fakir were in a romantic relationship or anything, but she did like him. Thinking over their current relationship and any possibility they had of becoming more, she swam in lazy little circles. She was confident in Fakir's ability to recreate the pendant and make it work.

That day was spent out in the forest. When Duck got hungry, she walked around until she found some nuts or berries to eat. When she felt tired, she took a nap by the shore, and when she was bored she would swim, diving under the surface and seeing how long she could stay under before she needed to come back up to the surface. As the sun drifted lower toward the horizon, Duck began to get sleepy. Remembering that Fakir had scolded her for waiting earlier, she decided to take another quick nap in a patch of long grass by the shore.

That "quick" nap turned out lasting for several hours. Duck awoke when she heard Fakir calling for her. Blinking a few times and stretching before getting to her feet, she quacked, looking around blindly in the dark for her knight. She quacked again, not able to find him. Hearing footsteps on the dock, she turned around and saw Fakir's silhouette walking down the short wooden dock. He was setting some things down on his desk. With another quack, she scrambled around the pond and to the dock, then ran down the length of it. She stopped when she got to his feet and looked up at him and his desk, noting the things he'd placed there.

Fakir sat down, putting the finished pendant on the corner of the desk. It was... a perfect replica of the pendant she'd worn as Princess Tutu, and shone a beautiful, deep red, reflecting the moonlight onto Fakir's cheek. Duck jumped up and down a few times, trying to get a closer look.

"Stop, you idiot. Just hold on a second and let me try this." He set a dress to the side, as well, and blushed a little when he saw Duck notice it. So he'd thought ahead. "I don't know how well it will fit. I had the carpenter's daughter make it. She looked about the same size as you, but I'm not... Anyway, here." He gently placed the pendant in front of her, then turned to his books and readied a quill pen before starting to write.

Was that the girl that had been walking home with Fakir? The girl that he'd asked to make a dress for Duck? Feeling a little silly for having been jealous, Duck waited a few moments, then lifted the chain with the end of her bill and slid it around her neck. She was so eager to be human again, to be able to talk and laugh and run and jump and do everything she would be able to in a human body. And so she waited. And waited. She looked up at Fakir, who was still writing, then gave a soft little quack.

He paused and looked down at her, then sighed and shifted his gaze back to the page he'd been writing on. He set down the quill and rubbed his neck with a hand. "I won't stop trying," he promised her.

Duck looked down at herself. Still just a duck. But she was positive that if anyone could turn her back into a human, it was Fakir. She gave her writer a little duckish smile and started walking down the dock and on toward home.

* * *

**I'm a bit less confident about this chapter. :\ I feel that it just didn't really come together quite as well as the others. If you have any constructive criticism and whatnot, please, don't hesitate to let me know! :D (In other words: Review! Please?)**


	7. A Dream Come True

Duck did not know where she was. She was lying in a bed, and... and... The girl threw off the covers to look at her legs: long, ending in human feet. She leapt from the bed, in her excitement tripping over the blankets and falling to the floor. The room was filled with exquisite and expensive-looking furniture, the carpet covering the floor was plush and thick, and the walls were painted in a brilliant array of colors and designs. Duck slid to a stop in front of a full-length mirror.

She was human! She twirled around a few times, giggling with a glee that bubble up from deep in her stomach, then paused, spotting a beautiful dress that was draped over the end of the bed. Duck stepped slowly up to it before picking it up and holding it against her. It seemed like it was just her size.

Seeing as there weren't any other clothes lying around the room, she decided to try it on, just for good measure. It _was_ a perfect fit, and the gold and deep blue that made the swirling, graceful designs on it complemented her hair and eyes. Her hair wasn't in its usual braid, but instead hung down her back and cascaded over her shoulders in nice waves.

Duck spun again in front of the mirror, feeling very feminine and pretty. She looked around the room again. There was a single door in the wall, and she went to it and tried the handle experimentally. It was open. Against the wall next to the door was a pair of gorgeous and delicate-looking slippers, adorned in the same swirling gold and blue design that covered her dress. Duck smiled and tried them on, and they, too, fit her perfectly.

Cautiously, the girl pulled the door open and poked her head out. There was a long hallway, lined with various doors. The decor matched that of the room she'd awoken in, and everything still looked expensive. The bright, striking colors from in her room seemed to continue on the walls of the hallway, perhaps even as a sort of theme for the manor. She stepped outside and walked quietly down the hall, curious.

The mansion (for that was what it seemed to be) was empty, but somewhere, a pleasant waltz echoed. Duck tried to follow the music, but found herself lost in some wing or other. Across the walls, painted in that beautifully design and style, was a story. Duck couldn't quite tell what it was, but it struck her somehow as familiar.

"Excuse me," said a polite voice, and Duck turned to see an older gentleman, dressed in the traditional garb for a butler. "Miss Duck, would you please come with me?"

"Oh, um, alright. Sir, could you tell me where I am?" she asked, embarrassed. "I think I'm lost."

"You're in the east wing of the mansion, Miss," he replied, turning and leading Duck through the house and toward the music. "Master Fakir has requested I bring you to the ballroom."

Duck blinked in surprise. "Master... Fakir?" she mumbled to herself.

The butler led her to two large, double doors, then opened them and bowed, gesturing for her to step inside. She did, and found herself in an enormous ballroom. The same bright colors splashed across the walls and ceiling, depicting an epic battle between a knight and a raven. She heard herself let out a breath in awe, captivated by the sheer beauty of the room. She heard someone clear their throat next to her, and she half-turned to see who it was. There stood Fakir, holding his hand out in a polite request for a dance to the music that still played. He gave her an encouraging smile.

Fakir was wearing a fine suit of navy and silver that matched her dress quite well, complete with a swirling pattern that mirrored hers. At his hip was a sword on a belt, and both her also decorated to match his clothing.

He's so handsome, Duck thought to herself with a blush, taking his hand in hers. He led her out on the dance floor and then gently spun her out so she would come back to him, then he turned her around and rested a hand on her waist, holding her hand with his other, and they danced.

Fakir was very good at ballroom dancing, Duck soon found. He took just few enough steps that she could keep up and spun her so she could watch the room spin. That was her favorite part of the dance, besides the dips. He would lower her as she leaned backward, and then she was upright again and they were dancing across the room once more. He never once took his eyes off of her, his expression a constant smile or smirk as they spun around the room.

It was like a dream come true.

* * *

Duck was drowsy and her head was still muddled with dreamy thoughts when she woke. It was late in the night, and she was curled up in Fakir's lap. They were in the study and he was slumped over on his desk. A lantern still burned by his elbow. The little bird slowly blinked a few times, and considered turning over and falling asleep again. Her dream had been so pleasant, after all.

But the window was open, letting in a gentle but chilly breeze. Coming to a decision, Duck got up and stretched, then hopped down and went to the living room. Her feathers would keep her warm, but Fakir might not be so fortunate. She picked up a blanket, then made her way back into the study and tossed it onto his lap. She clambered up the chair, then stepped onto the desk. She put his inkwell away, lest it get bumped and spill over the story he'd been writing, then blew out the lantern. She grabbed the blanket from his lap and draped it over his back and shoulders as well as she could.

Satisfied with her work, she hopped over his arm and settled against his neck and shoulder so his arm wrapped loosely around her. He was so nice and warm. As she lay there, starting to drift off, she felt his arm tighten slightly around her, holding her against him. _Sleep well, Fakir_, she thought. The little bird smiled to herself, then fell asleep once more.

* * *

**Anything that you liked? Anything you didn't? Tell me about it! I'll try to make good use of your advice. :)**


	8. Breakfast

When Fakir awoke, he felt something warm nestled against his neck. He slowly sat up and found that it had been Duck. The little bird was still fast asleep, though when he'd moved away she fell onto her side. The blanket that was over his shoulders fell back behind him. He looked around the room, taking note of the lamp and the inkwell that she'd moved aside, and wasn't entirely certain how to feel about it.

Stretching his arms over his head, Fakir let out a quiet sigh and got up from his chair. When Duck shivered a little on the desk, he turned his attention to the open window. Ah, that would explain the blanket. The young writer stepped up to the window and closed it, but his little Duck was already awake.

She quacked quietly and got onto her feet, stretching and giving Fakir a nod of greeting.

The writer regarded her quietly a moment. "Are you hungry?" he asked her, and got a string of excited quacks in response. He couldn't hold back the smile that stretched across his face. Sometimes the little idiot was all too predictable. He led her into the kitchen and pulled out some bread, spreading some butter across it before biting into a piece and setting another in front of Duck.

She dug into the bread with such eagerness that Fakir grabbed a few berries and dropped them onto the bread, watching her in amusement as she plucked them off the bread. Sometimes Fakir would be struck with surprise at how cute he found her, and would find himself blushing or looking away or some such stupid, pointless thing like that. This was one of those times. He turned his attention to his own bread, stealing a few berries for himself and wondering what else they had in the kitchen. While Duck still ate at her bread, Fakir grabbed an apple and started slicing it.

They didn't eat breakfast together often. Duck normally slept in and would either bug Fakir for food or try to get to it herself and end up falling. The young writer leaned back against the counter and chewed on a slice of apple absentmindedly.

It wasn't long before he felt something nudge his elbow and quack. He looked down and spotted Duck standing on the counter. Her eyes were glued to the apple he was still slicing. With a sigh, he cut a small chunk of apple and tossed it to her. She took a few steps back, watching it glide through the air, then caught it in her mouth.

She flapped her wings, jumping up and down, and he could imagine her asking if he'd seen her catch it and how perfectly she'd done it and saying she was the Queen of Catching.

"Ha, moron," he laughed quietly, and she gave him an insulted look. It was easy enough to understand her; she was so obvious all the time, after all. But he missed being able to talk to her, being able to have conversations with depth. Yes, they would be together forever, and he had enjoyed their time together so far, but…

Duck quacked up at him and he tossed another small piece of apple to her.

He wanted more, Fakir realized. He wanted her human again. He wanted her to be able to do things she couldn't anymore, to be able to go out and make friends and have new experiences and tell him about it. He wanted to have a close, specifically _human_ relationship with her. There was only so much they could say to each other while she was a Duck.

Fakir looked down at her and leaned down a little so they were at eye level. "I'm going to find a way to change you back," he promised her. "I won't stop trying until I have you back the way you were."

Duck looked up at him, blushing and shifting her wings. "Qua…?"

Fakir straightened and set the apple and knife on the counter. "Don't misunderstand. I'm just tired of having to feed you, idiot."

That wasn't it, and she knew as well as he did that it wasn't. But Duck did understand him, and she understood that he was embarrassed. She also understood that he wanted her to be human almost as much as she did.

* * *

**Yes, this chapter is a continuation of the last one. Also, sorry the update is so late. :(**


	9. Every Story Needs A Chase

Fakir had spent many sleepless nights looking into different ways that might work to turn Duck back into a human. He'd tried writing her back into a human several times, as well, but it never seemed to work, even when other things he tried to write would be written into the reality around them. It seemed that the world was working against them. Maybe it was fate, that she would stay a duck and he a human, that they could never be anything more. Maybe this was just how it was supposed to be.

Brooding wasn't something he enjoyed, really, but it seemed to be all he was doing lately. Brooding and researching, researching and writing. He'd even been spending less and less time with Duck. Lately he'd been so busy, feeling that if he wasn't constantly trying to get her back, he wasn't trying hard enough.

The writer struggled to push thoughts of fate and the impossible from his mind as Duck walked into the room and gave him a quack of greeting. She was always so cheerful, so ready to take on anything. Fakir spent a moment wondering if she was content like this, if she was okay with staying as a duck. Maybe she was happy. Maybe that was why she was never daunted by the sheer impossibility that a duck ever turn into a human temporarily, let alone permanently. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, backing away from the books he'd been reading. They, like so many others before them, had proved useless. "I don't know if I can do it," he said softly, staring at his desk and feeling quite useless himself.

Duck stopped and watched him quietly, waiting for his next words.

Fakir rubbed the back of his neck, worried and uncertain. "Nothing seems to be working."

Duck clambered up the chair and sat on his knee, then up and onto the desk—not without help from her knight. Once she was up, she turned and looked up at Fakir, then lifted a wing and beckoned him closer, her bright, blue eyes sparkling with a sort of cheerful mischief that he found a little intriguing.

The writer leaned toward her, confused. _What does she want?_

She beckoned a little more fervently, giving him a duckish little smile.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding annoyed, but still obeyed and came closer.

As soon as he was close enough, Duck rammed her head into his as hard as she could.

Fakir cried out in surprise and pain. "HEY!" he shouted, standing to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over. Fury flashed through him, as it seemed Duck knew it would.

* * *

With a triumphant, "Quack," the little bird turned and fled the room, her knight hot on her heels. Knowing that she had no chance of winning a race on a straight, open track, she darted into the dining room and went around the table, cutting corner and running under it.

Her heart raced in her little chest and she ran as fast as she could, flapping her wings for extra momentum and quite enjoying herself. She led Fakir all through the house, then slipped outside and waited by the window until he saw her.

He let out a yell and sprinted for the door while she went around the house and made her way through the streets of the town. The two turned heads, caught stares, were pointed out, were questioned, but neither had the time to spare any attention for the people of the town. All that they needed to know was the layout of the immediate area and the location of each other. When they reached a hill and flew down it, Duck barely made it to the trees before he caught up to her.

* * *

Fakir reached the little duck and stooped to grab her. They were running too fast, though, and his weight was sent off-kilter. Before he knew it, he was coming down and would land on Duck if he didn't do anything about it. With a shout of warning, he snatched her up off the ground and pulled her to his chest before ducking and rolling. He somersaulted a few times before he stopped, and he laid on his back, out of breath and clutching his little Duck against him.

He lifted her and prepared to glare and glower and grumble and scold her for a number of things, but when he saw those happy eyes, and that wide, ducky grin, he just couldn't stay mad at her. She quacked at him, giving him a stern look, and her knight descended into a fit of laughter.

Fakir had to release her; he didn't have the strength to keep her contained in his grasp, anyway. She fell on top of him and rolled off, walking up to his head and looking down at him calmly. When he was about ready to settle down, she quacked again and sent him back over.

When he was out of breath and grinning like an idiot, he rested in the grass on his back and just stared up at the sky, watching the large, white tufts of clouds traverse the vast expanse of it. Here, out by the trees, lying in the grass and taking a moment for fun and for simply enjoying each other's company, Fakir felt that, with the little bird by his side, he could manage the impossible. Duck sat in the grass by his elbow, looking quite happy with herself.

"Thank you," he said, smiling over at her. When his words seemed to make her a little too smug, he continued. "You're still a moron, but thank you."

* * *

**Hey all, sorry again for the super slow update. :\ But! I really like how this chapter turned out, so I hope the quality makes up for it? Maybe? Hopefully? Anyway, have a great night!**


	10. Duck Finds Herself A Friend

These days Fakir was having a hard time keeping his cool.

A little male duck had found its way to their pond, and now was spending quite a bit of time with Duck. She seemed to enjoy his company, and would often either drag Fakir out to the pond or disappear there, leaving her usual scribbled note. Once there, she would hop into the water and swim around until the other duck showed up, and then they would chase each other around or have splash fights or dive underwater or do… duck things. Sometimes they would walk around and forage for food.

Fakir didn't understand what it was she saw in him. He didn't seem any smarter than the average duck, and had, for whatever reason, something against the writer. Whenever the male saw Fakir get close to Duck or to himself, he would chase after Fakir and try to attack him. What was worse, Duck would get mad at him if he ever said anything bad about the other duck, or if he was mean to him. After a week or so of this, Fakir was quite ready for the duck to move on and leave them be.

The writer had taken to calling the little male duck by the name Albern, which Duck hadn't protested about yet. Luckily for him, she didn't seem to notice that he was just calling the little male duck stupid in German.

One afternoon, out at the pond, Fakir wrote while the two birds quacked at each other and splashed around. He didn't appreciate their volume, but he knew if he complained, Duck would point out somehow that he could just leave if it bothered him that much. He didn't want to leave, though. He didn't want to leave Duck alone with Albern. And he didn't want to admit to himself or anyone else that he was jealous of him. So he kept his complaints to himself.

Fakir felt like he was losing to a duck, and that was dealing quite a blow to his ego even without letting Albern rub it in his face. He was left to sitting while the two frolicked and talked to each other in quacks and jumped from a small rise into the ground, trying to fly down to the water. Watching the two, he found that he came to hate little Albern more and more.

At one point, Duck tripped and Albern stopped her from hitting the ground, catching her dramatically in a wing. She blushed and quacked her gratitude, and Albern gave Fakir a smug look. The writer fumed. This was ridiculous! He was being showed up by a duck!

Over the next day and a half, Fakir and Albern found themselves competing against one another for Duck's attention. When Fakir got fed up and plucked Duck off the ground, getting her away from Albern, she got made at him and made him put her down. She then proceeded to ignore Fakir pointedly for the rest of the day. She and Albern continued playing their ducky games and Fakir sat at his desk, not at all happy at being ignored by Duck.

Duck definitely looked like she was having fun. More fun than when it was just her and Fakir, alone out at the pond, when she would swim alone and quietly while he wrote and watched over her to make sure she wasn't getting herself into trouble. This observation brought about the fear that maybe Duck liked being just a duck. If she had a friend, maybe she was content to live as she was. She would grow into an adult, stay with Albern, and they'd have ducklings together.

Fakir shivered at the thought. Could it be, he wondered as he watched her playing out in the pond, that, if she was with Albern, she didn't want to turn back into a human? Fakir flicked his attention to the little male, quacking loudly as he pushed her underwater. The writer couldn't let that stupid duck have her!

No, he realized, he couldn't decide for her. It would be selfish of him to claim her and drive away other ducks if there wasn't even a guaranteed way they could be together. He tapped his pen irritably on his parchment, dabbing ink onto the paper but not caring enough to stop doing so. He wanted her to be happy, more than anything else. If he really couldn't find a way to turn her back, then he had no right to dash her chance here at a happy and peaceful life.

Fakir sighed. He would, of course, try everything he could to turn her back. He couldn't let her go that easily. But he also couldn't force her to stay with him if there was no hope for them. That just wasn't fair to her. Unhappy and grumbling, he packed up his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left, resolving to make his search for a solution much more urgent. Until he could find a way, though, Duck's life and choices were her own.

* * *

Duck watched Fakir walk off, stopping to float there and wonder why he'd looked so angry and resigned before he left. Aldern quacked at her, trying to get her to resume their contest, which was to see who could dive the lowest under the surface.

She turned to the duck and saw his hope, his simple happiness. He was a nice duck, and over their time together had become her good friend. She looked back to the path that led toward the town. But something was troubling Fakir, and it didn't seem to be his usual annoyances. Duck was a little worried, and hoped that she could help him somehow. She told Albern that she had to go back, and that she would return soon.

With that, Duck left her disappointed friend behind as she followed Fakir. He was, of course, much faster than she was, and soon he had completely left her behind. Still, she faithfully trudged on, and eventually reached the little house they lived in together. Through the window of the study, she saw Fakir sitting at his desk, poring dedicatedly over his books. The window was open, thankfully, and she hopped up onto the windowsill and came inside. She quacked at Fakir to get his attention.

He seemed surprised when he saw her. "Hi," he greeted.

She quacked and jumped up on Fakir's lap, then onto the desk, and looked down at the book he'd been reading, quite aware that she was standing in his way. She quacked again, realizing that it was a history book, flipped to a page about the author Drosselmeyer.

Fakir picked her up and moved her. "I'm trying to see if it explains anything about the way he wrote. Maybe that will give me a clue on how to write you into a human."

Duck looked up at Fakir. He seemed a little more urgent about this than usual. There was something about the way he leaned over the book, quickly scanning over every line, then turned the page and did the same thing over.

"Where's Aldern?" he asked after a few minutes.

Duck quacked again and pointed in the general direction of the pond.

The writer nodded his understanding and went back to his book. "I bet he misses you," he said, and Duck thought she heard something like bitterness in his voice.

The little bird thought over the last week and put two and two together, a little frustrated that she hadn't noticed sooner. Fakir was jealous! Her gallant knight was jealous of a duck, and didn't strike her as happy to be so.

* * *

The writer was turning a page in the book when Duck settled in front of the book, this time not in his way, and read with him, looking intently for any clues. He understood at once what this meant, and what she was trying to tell him. She did want to be a human, and she wanted to help him look for a solution that could accomplish that. Fakir blushed in embarrassment as he also realized that this message likely meant she'd realized he was jealous. He found himself very thankful that she was watching the book instead of him, and wasn't able to see him blush.

She was doing this in a sort of roundabout way that wasn't poking fun at him or pointing it out. It seemed that the more time she spent as a duck, the better she got at subtlety. Silently, he thanked her for it, for telling him that she wanted to be with him and assuaging his fears that she preferred living life as a duck with Albern. All of this struck him as rather stupid, him being jealous of a duck and… well, everything.

He sighed and turned the page, and the two of them searched together through the tome for an answer to their predicament.

* * *

**Ack, I haven't updated in forever! Sorry, guys. :( I'm not sure I can keep up the daily updates like before, but I'll try my best to update when I can. If anyone has any opinions on this chapter, I'd love to hear it! Especially things anyone didn't like. I'd like to improve my writing whenever possible. Thanks!**


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